Читать книгу: «The Gold Kloof», страница 10

Chapter X.
TOM'S STORY. – THE BABOON BOY

Quitting the camp at the first streaks of dawn, after a hurried breakfast, Mr. Blakeney and Jan Kokerboom, the Koranna, together with Guy and Poeskop, rode off along the wagon spoor, intending after a mile or two to turn off into the veldt and search in different directions. It was a sad and subdued party; Mr. Blakeney's distress of mind was too obvious to be ignored, and Guy's usually buoyant spirits were depressed and clouded by anxiety for his cousin's fate. They had cantered two miles along the wagon track, when suddenly Poeskop, who had been staring in front of him, ejaculated in his most cheerful voice, -

"Baas, baas, daar kom Baas Tom! Heep, hurrah!" and, letting off his rifle in his excitement, the little man put spurs to his pony and galloped off. It was true; the Bushman's sharp eyes had caught a glimpse of a figure far ahead of them among the bush. All galloped after him at headlong pace, and in three or four minutes they were off their nags and standing alongside the actual if somewhat dilapidated figure of Tom Blakeney. Mr. Blakeney was first up, in spite of Poeskop's start, and, jumping from his nag, had the boy in his arms and was patting him affectionately on the back.

"My dear, dear old Tom!" he cried. "Thank God you are all right." But Tom was too far gone to speak. He could stand up, it was true, but after forty-eight hours of burning thirst and exhaustion he was speechless. His dry, leathery tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. He tried to ejaculate a word, but failed, and instead pointed to his mouth. Guy was the quickest to relieve him. Unstrapping his water-bottle from the saddle, he unscrewed the stopper and handed Tom some lime juice and water. The fierce, ravenous look in Tom's eyes, as he clutched the bottle, told eloquently enough what he had suffered and how great was his extremity. He took a long draught, and then his father touched his elbow and said gently, -

"Take it by degrees, Tom, or you may do yourself injury. Have a rest now, and take it in nips. Sit you down for a bit." Tom sat down, and they all sat around him. He was a pathetic sight, as he sat there, sipping at the water-bottle. His shirt was torn by thorns, and hung in tatters about him. His cheeks had fallen in, and he looked gaunt and haggard-a strangely altered figure from the fresh and comely lad who had ridden away so gaily from camp just two mornings before. But thirst and anxiety, under a burning sun, will make a wreck of most people in the space of forty-eight hours. At last he could get out a word.

"Thank God, I have reached you," he said. "I thought last night I was never going to see your faces again."

They put him on to Jan Kokerboom's pony, and took him back to the wagons, where there was immense rejoicing all round at the young baas's recovery-for Tom was a general favourite. After more lime juice and water, the lad ate some food and drank some tea; after which he lay down on a blanket, under the shade of a tree, and went fast asleep. Towards sundown he awoke, refreshed, cheerful, and nearly his normal self again. They had a merry supper together, and Tom told them his adventures, of which the reader already knows some part.

"After Rufus had bolted," he said, "and I found I couldn't catch him, I turned back and skinned the cow eland, cut off the head, trimmed it up as well as I could, and made ready a lot of meat. I had fired two shots to try and attract Guy and Poeskop, and I kept thinking they would be riding up. Well, two hours passed and nobody came, and I thought it time to be off. Taking some meat, I started on the spoor of the pony. After following it for nearly three hours, it became so mixed up with a lot of game spoor, and then so faint, that I clean lost it. I hunted about in every direction, and at last had to own myself beaten, although, as you know, I'm a pretty fair hand at the business.

"Well, what was to be done now? I had wandered about in so many different directions on the tracks of the pony that I had by this time clean lost my bearings. However, I took what I judged to be the direction of your wagon route, after looking at my compass and the sun, and marched on. After skinning the eland I had acquired a tremendous thirst, and could have drunk gallons; before sundown I began to find serious inconvenience from want of water. You know it has been desperately hot; and shut up in dense bush and forest on this light, sandy soil, it seemed blazing. I never felt the heat so much. Well, it came to sundown that evening, and I knew I was lost. I began to feel uncomfortable. Still, I thought, I shall be all right in the morning, and shall hear guns going or find the road. I wouldn't let myself believe that I was in really a serious mess. I lit a fire and cooked a bit of meat, but I was too dry to make much of a meal. I slept fairly well; but every now and again I awoke with my tongue, throat, and mouth horribly parched, and feeling that I would give anything just for one little glass of clean water.

"Morning came, and I got up and went on my way. I was too thirsty to eat: my tongue, throat, and lips were very much swollen, and the mere action of swallowing was most painful; and so I just tramped on. I took the direction by sun and compass again, but I was this time so 'bushed,' and had wandered so far from where we had started, that I knew it would be a mere chance if I hit off the wagon track again. As for water, there was none, of course, in that miserable wilderness. Nor, at this time of year, was there the least speck of dew-everything as dry as a bone, including myself. Well, I wandered on and on that day, seldom resting, and gradually getting slower and weaker. All the afternoon I tired steadily, and by two o'clock could scarcely drag one leg after another. The veldt was the same: endless bush and mopani forest.

"I rested for an hour, and then, looking at my watch, I determined to walk for another two hours in as straight a direction as I could manage. Of course bush and timber divert one constantly from one's course, but I pushed steadily on at a slow pace. All this afternoon I kept on thinking of pleasant drinks. Cricket matches came constantly to my mind, with huge refreshing draughts of shandy-gaff, and so on. And often I pictured to myself the big dam at Bamborough, and imagined myself wading in up to my neck and drinking till I could drink no longer. My thirst, somehow, was not quite so bad as in the morning, but my mouth and tongue bothered me a great deal-they were just like so much leather-and my throat was horribly sore.

"Well, I marched steadily from three till close on five o'clock; then I felt so done that I sank down on the ground, and lay in a kind of stupor for some minutes. I had done my best. It seemed to me that I was beat, and that the vultures would soon be picking my bones. Suddenly I pulled myself together and looked at my watch, which was still going. It was now five minutes to five. With the three minutes' rest I had taken, I was still short of the two hours' task I had set myself. Somehow a stubborn fit took possession of me. I had said I would walk for two hours. I always had rather a mania for finishing up a task and getting done with it. Feeble as I felt, I determined, in sheer doggedness, to walk another eight minutes. Then I would lie down, and for the rest-well, the worst must come to the worst. So I got up and pulled myself together, and stumbled on. It was a wonderful thing, but my blessed obstinacy saved me. In five minutes I came suddenly on the wagon spoor, going north-east. I could scarcely believe my good luck. I stared at the tracks of the wheels, at the spoor of the good old oxen. Never have I seen anything more beautiful. Then, throwing myself on the sand, I patted the spoor as if it were a friend and a living thing. It seems absurd now, but that is actually what I did.

"Well, the rest is soon told. It was now nearly sunset. I walked on till the light went; then I lay down and slept, waiting for the moon to rise. I awoke just as she climbed up from behind the bush, towards twelve o'clock. Somehow I felt wonderfully better. I knew that I should now see home and friends again, which I had begun seriously to doubt all day yesterday. I could hold the spoor all right in the moonlight, and tramped along slowly and wearily, but still steadily, till four o'clock. Then I rested for an hour and a half. Little did I think I was now within a few miles of camp, or I should have fired a rifle shot. As soon as dawn began to come I walked on again, and then, after twenty minutes, looking up, I saw Poeskop and you, dear old pater, galloping up towards me."

"Well, my boy," said Mr. Blakeney solemnly, "it was a wonderfully lucky escape. This thirst-land is a terrible country to get lost in, and many a man has died of thirst in it and left his bones. I think your sudden resolution to get up and finish your two hours' walk was a kind of miracle. I see the hand of God in it, my boy, and we ought to be, as indeed we are, truly thankful for it. I can't tell you what a load is off my mind. All yesterday and last night I was in an agony of anxiety, wondering what was to become of you."

"If you hadn't taken that sudden resolution to go on for another eight minutes, Tom," said Guy, "should you have ever got up again?"

"No, I don't think I should," returned Tom. "I was so dead beat, and I had practically given up all hope."

"Well, thank God you stuck to your task and went on," said Guy. "Otherwise you might have lain there, and died actually within five minutes' walk of salvation. It's a wonderful thing, whichever way you look at it."

"Yes, I doubt whether Tom would have got through another day," said Mr. Blakeney. "Thirst, in this thirsty country, kills a man. The heat and the terrible anxiety both add to the danger. In most parts of the veldt you know that if you walk for a certain distance you will strike water. Here, if you get bushed, as you easily can, it's a matter of impossibility to find your way to perhaps one waterpit in hundreds of square miles of country. In 1879 a friend of Selous, the famous hunter, a Mr. French, died of thirst in very similar country, near the Chobe River, in less than two days. And in the same year, in the same country, three Kaffirs died of thirst within twenty-four hours of the time they had left the last water. This was in September, before the rains fall, when the heat is always terrific. Thank God once more that you are so well out of it, Tom. I shall always be chary of letting you hunt in thirst country again, and it's a lesson never to go out without full water-bottles. There's just one other thing. Many hunters, including Selous, in hunting in such country, always have a piece of cord fastened to the cheek ring of their horse's bridle, and attached at the other end to the hunting belt. By this precaution, which in future we will all adopt, you can't lose your horse, as Tom had the bad luck to do. I'll see to the cords at once, and to-morrow you shall begin to use them."

They stood at the water, where they were now outspanned, for a full twenty-four hours longer. By this time the oxen and horses, which had suffered a good deal from the trek through the thirst, had recovered. During that day, at Tom's particular request, Poeskop rode back along the wagon spoor with the freshest pony, and recovered and brought in the head of the bull eland which Tom had first shot. It was a magnificent head, and Tom was rightly proud of it; and, in addition, it would be a reminder to him of a very perilous episode in his life history.

Poeskop turned up late at night with the trophy. He found the body of the bull picked nearly clean by vultures. The skin of the head was spoiled, but the horns were, of course, intact, and Tom welcomed them with an exceeding great joy.

Taking five shillings from his purse, he gave it to the little Bushman. "There, Poeskop," he said; "you've done a good day's work, and I'm much obliged to you. I can see by the look of the pony that you've had a tough ride of it."

The Bushman, tired though he was, grinned his hugest and most pleasant grin.

"The baas is very welcome," he said, "and I am well paid for my trouble. And when the baas gets home again and sticks up the horns, as he says he will, he will remember Poeskop and the hunt in the thirst-land."

"Yes, that I will, Poeskop," said Tom quickly. "You're a good fellow to bring in the head. It's a fine one, isn't it?"

"Ja, Baas Tom," added Poeskop; "a right good head. That eland was a big, full-grown bull, seven years old at least."

They trekked next morning, and, travelling for two days over more open country, reached a picturesque region of hills and kopjes. It was among these hills that a somewhat singular adventure overtook them. Tom, who had quite recovered his spirits, had been out with his father, Guy, and Poeskop in search of klipspringer. They had bagged a brace of these charming little antelopes, and were now passing through a poort or pass to another range of hills. On the rocky heights above a troop of baboons barked angrily at them, from the shelter of some dark bush and greenery, through which their hideous, satyr-like faces could be occasionally seen.

"Shall I have a shot at one, uncle?" said Guy. "It would serve the brutes right for making that hideous row. One might think the place belonged to them."

"No, don't fire, Guy," answered Mr. Blakeney. "They're troublesome rascals; but they won't interfere with us, and it's a pity to waste a cartridge. After all, they are so seldom molested here that I suppose they consider the place belongs to them. Here they are harmless. Down in Cape Colony they are a pest, and one is bound to get rid of them. Years ago some baboon discovered that the milk paunch of a young kid was a pleasant thing to devour. His discovery spread, and farmers now lose hundreds of unfortunate goats, killed in this way by baboons. And so they have to be shot or poisoned, or otherwise got rid of. They're artful brutes, and very difficult to circumvent."

Guy and Tom looked rather longingly at the big apes, running excitedly through the bushes above them, and making the while a most unpleasant din. Presently they crossed the smooth, sandy bed of a periodical stream. Here Poeskop, who was a little ahead, halted, and began to examine the ground very curiously. An exclamation or two escaped him. He moved forward, took a turn towards the hillside, and came back.

"What is it, Poeskop?" asked Mr. Blakeney, who had been watching the little man curiously.

"Come with me, baas," said the Bushman, with a puzzled look on his face. "I will show you a strange thing." They walked forward, and Poeskop directed their attention to the spoor of some animals which had been moving about the valley. "What does the baas see?" queried the Bushman.

"I see the spoor of baviaans [baboons]," answered Mr. Blakeney, examining the soil.

"Yes," broke in Tom, "baboons, right enough. But what's this? – something besides baboons."

Mr. Blakeney and Guy moved forward to where Tom stood, and saw instantly that other footprints were mingled with those of the great apes. Mr. Blakeney stooped, and examined critically the smooth sand and the whole tracery of footprints displayed so clearly.

"It's a strange thing," he said, half to himself; "but one could almost swear that here was the spoor of a child."

He glanced sharply at Poeskop, who had remained silent, but was now regarding him with an odd smile on his yellow face.

"Yes," said the little Bushman, in response to his master's look; "that is the spoor of a child-a baboon boy!"

"A baboon boy, Poeskop?" reiterated Mr. Blakeney. "What do you mean?"

"Well, baas," answered Poeskop, "I mean this. We Bushmen, and other natives of this country, know that sometimes the baboons carry off a child and bring it up with them, and the creature lives with them and grows wild and picks up their habits. It is not often that it happens, but it does sometimes. There is a baboon boy here, among these hills-that is certain. Here, you see, is his spoor, as plain as daylight. There are his footmarks, and there the prints of his fingers. He runs on all fours, just like a baviaan."

"It seems a queer yarn," said Mr. Blakeney, looking at the spoor musingly, "and I never heard of such a thing before. Can it be true? What becomes of the poor thing?"

"Well, baas," answered Poeskop, "I don't think they often grow up. The life is too hard for them. But my father once told me that he knew of a wild man who lived among the baboons, far away yonder" – the Bushman pointed north-east-"and was called the King of the Baboons. He was killed by a native tribe, who began to be afraid of him and the apes he lived with."

"A strange story, indeed," said Mr. Blakeney. "Well, we can't let this poor wretch stay with these baboons. We must hunt them up and try to get hold of him."

"It will be a tough job, baas," said Poeskop; "but we will try."

"How shall we do it, Poeskop?" said Guy. "Go after them now, and try to shoot the old men baboons?"

"No, Baas Guy," said the Bushman, "that would be no good. We should never catch them up these hills, and we might shoot the wrong baboon and kill the boy. Leave it to me. I will hide up here among the rocks, and follow up the troop. They will go to rest at sundown in some cave; and if I can mark the place, we can go for them at night, and perhaps take the boy."

So Poeskop was left among the wild hills, while Mr. Blakeney and the boys strolled quietly back to the wagon-which was now outspanned at the entrance to the kopjes-and made ready for the evening. They had supper, and presently, a little before eight o'clock, Poeskop walked quietly into the camp.

"Well, Poeskop," chorused the two boys, "what's the news? Have you marked them down?"

"Ja, baas," said the Bushman, a pleased smile playing on his features, "I have marked them down."

"Baboon boy and all?"

"Ja, baboon boy and all. They are gone to sleep in a big cave, not far from where we saw them, and we shall find them presently."

"That's excellent," said Mr. Blakeney. "Now, Poeskop, get your supper and have a pipe. When shall we start?"

"Not till the moon gets up a bit, baas," answered the Bushman. "We can then find our way better, and the baviaans will all be fast asleep."

They waited a couple of hours, till ten o'clock. The moon rose slowly behind the hills and shed a glorious light, tipping the wild kopjes with pale silver, and casting blue-black shadows from bush and tree and ant-hill. Mr. Blakeney had delved among the wagon stores and brought out some blue lights, with which, as well as with a couple of lanterns, they were provided for the assault. Three-quarters of an hour's walk brought them near to the scene of operations. Sheltering behind some bush, they now lit the two lanterns, and moved forward for the final act. It was a stirring moment. Not a sound was heard through the vast solitude of these lonely hills, save for the ceaseless droning of a cicada in a bush hard by. The very night birds were asleep or absent. The clear moon gazed down upon the little group of serious men with placid serenity. Very silently they moved forward, Poeskop and Mr. Blakeney leading. Turning an angle of bush, Poeskop nudged his master. Mr. Blakeney swiftly lighted a blue light at his open lantern, and the pair dashed forward. They stooped and entered a dark cavern, the boys close at their heels, and then a weird scene, indeed, met their gaze.

They stood in a large cave some thirty yards square. The roof was fairly lofty, once they had passed the portal, and the wonderful illumination of the blue light, now held upwards by Mr. Blakeney, lit up every nook and cranny of the place. In the corner, huddled together as if for mutual encouragement and protection, was a troop of some score of baboons, big and little. All the creatures were alarmed and angry. The older and bigger beasts showed their teeth threateningly, and quah-quahed fiercely at the intruders. In the centre of the group the eyes of the onlookers were instantly fixed, on a figure which, as all could clearly see, differed somewhat from the rest of the apes. It had a black face, but it was human, and, undoubtedly, the baboon boy.

"Now, lads," said Mr. Blakeney, "you guard the entrance. Let all escape that will, but whatever happens seize the boy yonder. Shoot any of the brutes that go for you. I'll stir them up."

As he spoke these words the fury of the baboons seemed to be redoubled; they barked fiercely, their raucous voices resounding hoarsely through the cavern. Holding the blue light aloft in his left hand and a revolver in his right, Mr. Blakeney advanced upon the group. Poeskop kept pace with him. Two grim old men baboons suddenly quitted the group and ran at a shamble swiftly upon Mr. Blakeney. The first barrel of his revolver accounted for the leader at close quarters; before he could press the trigger again, the second, a huge baboon, leaped for his throat. Mr. Blakeney somehow managed to elbow the brute off, and its teeth met in the fleshy part of his shoulder. At the same moment a bullet from Poeskop's carbine, the barrel pressed against the baboon's ribs, pierced its body. It relaxed its grip and dropped dead.

The commotion set up by these attacks and by the firing was indescribable. It seemed to the two lads guarding the entrance that they stood in some wild inferno. The hoarse barkings of the older beasts; the howls and shrieks of the young animals; the smoke drifting across the startling illumination of the blue light; the dark, rough, uncouth figures of the apes, now beginning to scatter for flight-all these things seemed like the strange semblance of some wild dream. Now the baboons were separating. They ran in two parties round the walls of the cavern. Eight of the biggest, snapping and feinting in savage affright, Guy and Tom allowed to pass and escape out at the cave mouth. Two or three half-grown beasts and some mother baboons, with some quite small animals, went next. Next came a huge old female, with the baboon boy running at her heels. Guy and Tom ran back for the entrance, and planted themselves there. The baboon, grunting savagely and showing her formidable teeth, ran at Tom, and was in the act of springing at his throat, when a terrific kick from the lad caught her fairly on the point of the jaw and stretched her on the sand. Guy fired his Mannlicher instantly at the creature's head, and the thin bullet at once stretched her dead. At this the dark figure behind her-the baboon boy-turned and fled, seeking the farthest corner of the cave. By this time there seemed little fight left in the small remnant of baboons. The boys came forward from the entrance once more, and the maddened creatures swept out and away into the night. Besides themselves, but one figure remained in the cavern-the baboon boy.

"Now, lads, back to the entrance again!" cried Mr. Blakeney, "and we'll soon finish the business."

Kindling another blue light, he and Poeskop advanced upon the dark figure crouching behind a big projection of rock. As they approached, the thing, with a strange inhuman, angry grunt, manifestly copied from the baboons, darted away and ran round the cave wall. Poeskop flung down his carbine and rushed in pursuit. The three Englishmen, the ludicrous side of the chase overmastering the element of horror in this weird scene, burst into laughter as the Bushman chased the preternaturally active baboon boy round and round the cavern. Twice as it passed the entrance one of the boys made a grab at the creature. It sheered off, however, and, as they hesitated to leave their post, ran on. But Poeskop, suddenly ceasing from his pursuit, now made a cut across. Mr. Blakeney barred the way to the fleeing figure, and the Bushman, throwing himself upon the naked, black-skinned thing, held it in a grip that never relaxed. The creature bit, fought, scratched, and struggled fiercely. It was all of no avail. In five minutes Poeskop and Mr. Blakeney had the wild thing fastened up securely. Between them they carried it moaning down the hill and through the valley, and presently got it to their camp fire. There, surrounded by their curious native servants, who had heard the tale from Poeskop, they examined their capture with an interest strangely sharpened by amazement.